it's all them small things
by lachrymoseorange
Summary: Series of unrelated drabbles all centered around Captain Swan. Ratings will vary.
1. a teaspoon of patience

**Author's Note** : Don't mind me; I'm just here for the drinks. Enjoy this random little bit. I couldn't help myself.

* * *

 **a teaspoon of patience [never hurt nobody]**

"Remind me again why you refuse to use the toilet?" she asked when he meandered into the kitchen, hair flopping deliciously over his forehead and socks covering his feet.

"I've told you ten bloody times now, Swan."

"Yeah, but I keep forgetting." In actuality, her mother was on the phone in complete disbelief that her daughter was telling the truth: that the menacing pirate of all the seven seas preferred to go outside – in the _yard_ , for goodness' sake – to do his business.

"It's too bloody loud!" he cried incredulously at her as he rifled into the fridge, forgetting himself. "I'd sooner think it capable of summoning the Kraken from the depths of the ocean than believe it to be a valuable piece of plumbing."

She hid her laughter in her hand and heard her mother's loud chortling coming through the receiver.

"And now you're laughing at me," he said, petulant now, slamming the fridge shut. "And don't think I haven't realized your mum is on the other side of your blasted talking phone."

"Got me, Mr. 21st Century."

His face brightened slightly at what he must have thought a sincere compliment, but she just couldn't resist pulling the rug from that particular notion. Besides, her mother was still on the other line, and it was the perfect setting for a public shaming. "Keep smilin', buddy, but I was also there when you squirted toothpaste in your eye."

His expression from earlier quickly evaporated, the tips of his ears going red, and she vaguely wondered if she'd overstepped. Then realized she didn't care. She loved the man in all of his beguiling innocence of the world around him, but would take advantage of that lack of knowledge every chance she got and would rather be caught dead than admit how adorable he was in those precious seconds of confusion and bewilderment.

He, on the other hand, was doing a rather convincing job of acting miffed at her teasing.

"You know what, Swan? I think I'll be sleeping on the couch tonight." His voice was a near-growl, and the dim lighting of the room hooded his eyes so she wasn't exactly sure how serious he was.

"Good riddance. You snore anyway."

It wasn't true, but she couldn't just walk away from an opening like that. It wasn't often he left himself vulnerable to embarrassment, and she'd offer him no _quarter –_ she even said the last word in her mind in his accent, and she barely kept that smile from licking across her face because _God, that beautiful man is rubbing off on me in the most delectable of ways._

Unfortunately for her, the fearsome pirate from the stuff of nightmares stalking angrily up the stairs shook her mind from out of the gutter. A slam crashed through the house moments later, and she grinned despite herself at what she counted as a victory.

He wasn't actually hurt. Was he?

 _Nah_.

"Looks like I'm in the dog house. Again," she sighed, sarcastically pathetic. "Mind if I come over and help cook as a preventative measure for when he poisons my hot chocolate stash in revenge?"

Her mother laughed lightly, seemingly recovered from her previous guffawing. "Oh, Emma, you know we'd love to have you, but you shouldn't tease him like that."

"I can't help it. Poor man was up half the night wondering at the sprinklers," she said, tossing her hair over her shoulder. "Would've been nice to get several hours of uninterrupted sleep, but no. Stupid pirate had to wake me up and have me explain the physics behind 'such a bloody brilliant invention' at 3 in the morning. He deserves more than a little teasing, trust me."

Snow sighed, long and drawn out, before a shrieking wail flooded through the speaker, loud enough that Emma had to pull the phone away from her ear. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah, Neal just woke up. I have to go, Emma."

"All right. I'll see you in a bit."

"Go make nice with the vengeful pirate first, then come over and babysit. I love you, but you're not coming anywhere near the lasagna."

It was Emma's turn to chuckle softly. "Mighty fine by me, Mom. Bye."

Then the line went dead, and she gathered a supple amount of courage – and a small glass of rum as a peace offering – to face the angry man holed up in the bedroom.

* * *

She wasn't all that sorry, and he knew it, and sent her away shamefaced and feeling more than a twinge of remorse before finally accepting his anger and spending the remainder of the afternoon with a 3-month-old to give him space to cool off.

* * *

When nighttime fell and she collapsed in their bed – alone – she genuinely felt bad, and knew what it would take to get him to quit feeling sorry for himself.

So she crept into the living room at midnight to find him awake and staring at the ceiling – the be-damned stubbornness of that man would be the death of her, she just _knew_ it – and invited him in a most irresistible fashion back to their bed.

* * *

Needless to say, he had little choice in the matter – not when she wanted to show him with her lips just how apologetic she actually was.

He gave in – of bloody _course_ he did – breathless and dizzy and very, very, _very_ much in love with her.

* * *

She was right. As usual.


	2. if your heart is a pillow

**if your heart is a pillow [this love is the bed]**

Towers of papers and empty coffee cups and flickering lightbulbs presaged a long night of drooping eyelids and tousled hair, but it was her job, and damn it all if she wasn't going to kick ass at it.

But it by no means meant that Killian had to suffer right alongside with her.

The poor man had been up since the crack of dawn first taking Henry sailing, then toting boxes filled with donated books to the library that afternoon, only to finally take it upon himself to join her in rifling through filing cabinets searching for any sort of clue that might lead her to the purposes behind Vladimir's incessant traumatizing of the town. As it was, she'd already warned Ruby to take all mentions of Bloody Marys off the menu at the Fox Hole, just in case the nefarious vampire decided he needed to expand his hunting horizons. She'd even gone so far as to halt the incoming shipments of blood oranges to be safe, because she knew the twisted creature of the night had an interesting sort of humor, and wasn't willing to put the lives of the residents in jeopardy on some stupid whim.

Of course, her beloved pirate had stubbornly refused to give up his mentions of 'bloody hell' or 'bleeding contraption-of-the-21st-century-I-don't-know-how-to-use.'

Speaking of obnoxious pirates, she glanced over at where he slouched on the sofa, book in hand, fighting a losing battle with his lingering lids, and her heart grew heavy. They'd barely slept the night before – the vamp had been making some sort of ruckus near the border, and she'd been sent out to investigate – and as tired as she was, she'd be willing to guess that he was even more so. She had this nagging feeling that he'd waited for her to come home before falling asleep, what with sneaking into their bedroom only to find him awake and reading against the bolster.

The obnoxious ticking of the clock on the wall brought her focus to the blurring lines of ink on the page in front of her, and she turned her head to glance at it. 3:46 in the morning, and there was _still_ a mountain of papers to be sorted through. Her father had long since gone home to help Mary Margaret with a teething Neal, so she'd volunteered to pick up the slack. Suddenly regretting her willingness to help, she tossed the sheet into the growing stack at her feet and rubbed her eyes.

Stars and blessed blackness smeared over her line of sight, and she decided her brain was too fried to connect any dots – at least until 7 a.m. and after a few hours' sleep.

Stretching her aching back, she got to her feet and came to stand over a sleepy Killian Jones, former egregious pirate with a taste for violence and dramatic leather outfits. He was nothing but soft and innocent in that moment, all glassy blue eyes and darkened scruff.

He tensed as she approached, straightening from his sagging position, and she smiled down at him. "We really ought to dedicate some tax dollars for adding a half-decent bed in here, huh?" she mused quietly, sticking her hand out to him.

Seeming to lack any energy for more than a twitch of his lips, he stood, unsteady and reaching for her.

"Let's go home."

* * *

As soon as she'd plunged feet-first into the covers, he was there, snuggling his warm body next to hers, his sweet-smelling skin and presence rolling over her in waves. She fell into a blissful slumber seconds later.

* * *

When she awoke a little while afterwards to find night still tripping in through the open windows, she didn't know where she was, grappling for a moment until she was grounded by a low hum drifting along with the breeze rustling the air of the room.

Quiet and sad and achingly lonely, the noise continued without pausing, and she waited for an infinite number of minutes until the lullaby ended. Just when she thought he'd gone to sleep, Killian shifted beside her and the rumble in his throat started up again.

She turned over slowly, seeking him out in the inky shadows to find him huddled close, his head ducked low and curled away from his pillow, his face inches from her chest.

The song stopped, and the room felt agonizingly silent all of a sudden.

"Killian?" she whispered, wiggling down in the bed to search his eyes. They shined back at her through the darkness, glinting with the light filtering in from the bright streetlamp outside the window.

Her hands curled around him, one coming to rest over his heart, the other inching its way along his ribs, and she felt him breathe a shaky sigh, watched as his eyes fluttered shut.

She touched her lips to his. "Sleep now, my love."


End file.
